


Will Graham Takes A Shower

by NotQuiteLuke



Series: Hannibal Bathroom Masturbation Fics [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Empath Will Graham, Light Masochism, M/M, Masturbation in Bathroom, Masturbation in Shower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 03:32:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10868187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotQuiteLuke/pseuds/NotQuiteLuke
Summary: You can consider this a sequel to my first Hannibal fic (titled Hannibal Takes A Bath). In this stunning new episode, Will Graham takes a shower! As the tags suggest, this one also features some bathroom masturbation, also features some vague, implied BDSM. And cannibalism i Guess.





	Will Graham Takes A Shower

Despite the reasonably sunny weather, lengthening days and looming daylight savings, Will couldn’t quite shake the winter. There was still something in him that stubbornly insisted upon _knowing_ outright that the sun would be down by 6pm. Checking the clock at gone 7 and being met with the reality that it was still light outside was jarring. Grasp on reality wasn’t his strongest suit to begin with but when reality insisted on continually moving the goalposts it did nothing to help the situation.

He’d been at Quantico all day. Teaching and trying to come up with lectures. Jack hadn’t pulled him out to a crime scene so far that week, but it was only Tuesday and he wasn’t holding his breath for a quiet week. So far, though, it had been alright. He’d been coping, which was something at least. The drive home had been mostly on autopilot, and so had been the dog's’ evening run. Not so much a walk as a case of Will standing in one spot, pockets chock full of tennis balls which he took out and threw for each dog in turn. This would continue, getting progressively more chaotic as dogs lost track of their balls and Will’s arms started to seize up. 

He started herding them back towards the house after 45 minutes or so, hoping they’d had the good sense to hang on to the tennis balls but knowing he’d be finding them across the field for weeks. They filed in through the door and took up their usual spots as Will shrugged off his coat and perched on the couch, bending down to untie his shoes. Leaning his head down to do so was a bad idea he realised as he caught a whiff of his own armpit and recoiled. He liked to think that he hadn’t smelt this bad all day, and that it was a recent thing brought on by the exertion of throwing all those balls for the dogs. In fact, he decided that must have been the case because the alternative was just too embarrassing.

Will kicked off his shoes and padded towards the bathroom, unbuttoning his shirt and gently tossing it in the general direction of the laundry pile as he walked. He wasn’t usually one for night time showers. Given the reasonable chances of night sweats, plus an overall preference of starting the day with a shower, it made sense for him to wait until the morning. Not tonight. Besides, hot water’s supposed to soothe aching muscles, right? There was nothing stopping him from skipping washing his hair, either. It didn’t have to be a big production, just in, a quick frantic scrub and out again. He arrived at the bathroom half dressed, reached into the shower to turn it on before retreating again and unbuttoning his pants. Again, they were half kicked, half nudged into the laundry zone along with his boxers and socks. He took a second to look at himself in the mirror while he waited for the water to get up to temperature. His face looked the way it always did, to his relief. At least he didn’t look as bad as he smelled.

Extending one arm out into the water’s path, he checked the temperature though he knew how long it took for the hot water to kick in and he knew it would be at his perfect temperature by now. The checking was habit, though. He knew the one day he forewent the check would be the day the boiler unexpectedly failed and the water would be freezing. That wasn’t today though, and he stepped into the almost-too-hot water, sliding the glass shower door closed behind him.

Eyes closed, Will luxuriated in the heat and wet. He hadn’t realised how gross he’d felt up until that moment, feeling the grime fall away from him. The stream of water made contact with the crown of his head, pulling his curls down before running the length of his body. He kept his eyes closed against the water, moving to put his face under, his head tilted back and his hands nearly automatically moving to push his hair back off his forehead. He turned, keeping his head tilted so the water now aided him in his task of keeping his forehead unobscured.

He rolled his head, feeling the bones in his neck creak and rub against each other before bringing his head forward again. He opened his eyes a little to locate his shower gel and watched as a puddle formed on his hand. Placing the bottle back in its place, he roughly smushed his hands together, redistributing the gel before taking a small step out of the water’s path and getting to work lathering it across his torso, over his shoulders and down his arms and legs. He worked quickly, enjoying the tea tree scent, knowing as soon as he was done he’d feel heaps better.

When he stepped back under the water, Will closed his eyes once more and took particular notice that as the skin passed under his hands now, it caught a little as the soap washed away. If he’d washed his hair, it would be squeaking. He was clean again, clean and somewhat perky. He’d intentionally kept the tea tree gel away from his genitals, having made that mistake before and having no wish to repeat it. Masochist he may be, but there were certain caveats to that that disqualified that course of action. It was simply no fun if he had to do it himself. Mostly because then he’d know what was coming, not that it mattered…

Having woken up some, fresh once again, Will’s brain apparently interpreted this as the moment to start thinking about sex. Which was… fine, he supposed. No easier place to jack off than the shower, and he’d planned on giving himself a few minutes to wash his junk anyway. His brain flicked through scenarios, each more disappointing than the last. One hand reached down to hold his dick, gently stroking it in a motion more akin to washing than masturbating, for the moment at least. The problem with finding the perfect fantasy was that it became too tempting, was overused and before long the sparkle faded and the result, while pleasurable, was ultimately disappointing. He needed something new. Something appropriate. Someone who would appreciate him fresh out of the shower, who would appreciate the almost overwhelming scent of his toiletries.

 _The scent of his toiletries._ The neurons connected and the image bloomed in Will’s brain. _”Difficult to avoid. I really must introduce you to a finer aftershave.”_ Hannibal, looming over his shoulder, his keen sense of smell able to diagnose cancer, or criticise his aftershave. Hannibal would smell the more primal scent of his arousal underneath the strong mint and tea tree. His cock twitched, evidently approving of this scenario. While somewhat unfortunate that Will was now apparently fantasising about his therapist, there was no harm in seeing how far it would go.

He stayed facing the wall, hot water pouring down over his chest. Eyes shut against the deluge. Hannibal it was, then. He tried to construct a scene. It was easiest to imagine them here, Hannibal having let himself in, hovering in the open doorway while Will, unaware, stood in the shower much like he was that instant. He could almost feel the eyes on him, vaguely predatory but more curious than ravenous. Hannibal was not the kind to simply leap, he would need some coaxing invitation.

Will’s cock was fully erect now, the redistribution of blood coupled with the steam was making Will ever so slightly fuzzy round the edges, softer. He leaned one shoulder against the tiles, taking some of the weight off his feet. He felt a shudder chase up his spine: The physical manifestation of Hannibal’s eyes on him. He cocked his hip, cutting what he imagined – hoped, more like - to be a seductive figure shrouded in steam.

Will drew the line at talking out loud to someone he knew wasn’t there, it would disturb the dogs and he could do without an assault from any of them right now. But he thought about what he’d say. Maybe something like “Are you enjoying the show?” A bit predictable, but since he already knew Hannibal was enjoying the show, he let it stand. He was sure the real Hannibal wouldn’t shrug off his suit jacket and let it fall to the floor in a pile, but the sound was distinctive enough. Will tightened his grip on himself, opting to move his hips along with his hand, just to make sure it was obvious what he was doing, even from behind.

Constructing scenes is what will does. The only difference is some are more enjoyable than others. The pendulum swings, and Will turns around to find Hannibal staring like he’s been presented with the rarest creature on earth – and it’s at his complete mercy. It’s unusual for Will to be himself in these scenes, and it would be jarring if his brain was working properly. Instead, he’s fascinated by the obscenely large pupils gazing at him, compelled to absent-mindedly reach behind for the tap and turn off the shower. The lack of the water’s noise makes this interaction sexual. This isn’t just a shower now; this is just an excuse to be naked. Will slides the misted glass door open, and Hannibal is all over him.

Will is surprised with how urgently Hannibal kisses him, hands holding each side of his skull like without their help it would fall into halves, ready for the autopsy table. He doesn’t seem to register the water on his clothes, and Will can’t help but to melt into it. It’s Hannibal who pulls away, moving his hands down to Will’s waist and guiding him out of the shower, out of the bathroom and back towards his unmade bed.

The cold hits Will fast, and he startles, jumping back and out of the stream of water. He isn’t sure how long he’s been in the shower for, but apparently, the hot water is a finite resource. He braces himself and reaches through the stream to turn the tap off, furious that he was interrupted. He leans his head against the wall partly defeated though his hand continues almost angrily tugging at his erection. He’d have to settle for jerking off in the ordinary, run-of-the-mill manner, without soft expensive fabric pressing against him, or demanding hands tugging at his hair.

While his orgasm is pleasurable, without Hannibal it is ultimately disappointing. He resigns himself to bed, but makes a note to dedicate some time to inducing his skills for scenarios that don’t involve murders.

He falls asleep wondering if Hannibal will ever truly look at him that way. Turns out Will Graham very much enjoys being the rarest creature on Earth, and he knows that to Hannibal that makes him a delicacy.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not too happy with my writing of Will, Hannibal comes to me a lot easier but it was very fun getting to play with his empathy. 
> 
> Look out for part 3: Freddie Lounds Resorts To A Quick Babywipe Wash Because She's Running Late Already.


End file.
